


Playing With Fire

by velvetsun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetsun/pseuds/velvetsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the wall has fallen; coda to 6.22</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing With Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gold_bluepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gold_bluepoint).



> Written for the recent spnspringfling challenge on livejournal. Originally posted [here.](http://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/18308.html) Thanks to transfixeddream for the beta and making this better than it was. ;) Title taken from Stones song in the finale.

Sam’s scream had torn through the blackness, loud enough to be heard in the next town let alone the next room. Dean shot up out of bed and practically fell into Sam’s in his haste. Ever since Sam’s assimilation, his nightmares have been relentless, their nightly torture turning him into this Sam-shaped zombie during the day. Litanies of _God, please no,_ and _Dean_ mix with soft cries and whimpers each night, a broken soundtrack that Dean can’t fix.

Sam looks so pale now in the half-light of the room, the moon giving his face an eerie blue glow, casting even darker shadows under his eyes in the midnight hours. Sam doesn’t eat anymore, with his raw nerves he hasn’t kept anything down for days, and the strength Dean's always known as his brother is beginning to fade more with each passing day.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, watching what’s passed for sleep the past few nights as Sam lies wrapped up in just a motel sheet. Reaching out, he places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to wake him with a gentle squeeze that makes Dean wince. It’s only been a week since Sam wandered into that warehouse for him, trying to save him by killing, or not killing Castiel as the case may be. Freaking Angels, all of them. Sam can’t even handle being touched anymore, akin now to being flayed alive. Cas will get what's coming to him for this, of that Dean's certain. Sam took on Hell to get back to him; he’ll take on Heaven if he has to, for Sam.

Sam curls in on himself and away from Dean at the touch, still trapped in the terror of his mind. It’s like sitting back in Bobby’s panic room waiting for him to wake up all over again. Watching him toss and turn, face twisted in agony, Dean’s never felt so helpless and he can’t stand it anymore.

He remembers when Sam had nightmares as a child, always crawling in bed with Dean and clinging to him like a lifeline. And later, after this thing started between them, after they were both sweaty and sated, Sam used to wrap himself around Dean, much to his chagrin. Dean would grumble and remind Sam that he was most definitely against cuddling, but in the end he’d lie there and fall away into dreams tucked deep into his brother’s arms. Dean’s pretty sure he’d never complain about being the little spoon again if he could just help Sam. Well, at least for a while anyway.

Deciding to take a chance, he does what’s inherent to him, and to them. Dean has always been Sam’s touchstone, this little shadow that followed him everywhere, measuring milestones against his big brother. Not so little anymore, and very much his own person, but Dean can still see that little boy every now and then looking for him, to him, for advice, protection, even love. None of which Dean has ever hesitated to give. That’s who he sees now, that little boy he’s always protected and loved, in pain.

Dean hopes that this is just one more mile marker on the highway, press the accelerator to the floor and fly on through. If it isn’t, what he's about to do might irreparably damage his brother, destroy the little sanity that lies within. And Dean’s not sure whether he’ll be able to live with that.

Taking a deep breath, he stands and pulls the sheet away from Sam, sliding in behind him. He lies there a moment, his hand hovering over Sam’s bicep, and just breathes. Sam is still now, but Dean knows it’s only a matter of time.

When it happens, Dean rests his hand on Sam’s arm and thinks, _all or nothing_ , before sliding up against him and wrapping his body around him. In one fluid motion, Dean wraps his arm around to hold Sam against his chest and pushes a leg in between both of Sam’s. Immediately, Sam recoils, trying to push away with a pained whine.

“Sam, it’s me,” Dean says softly, his head tucked into Sam’s neck, “You’re alright, you’re safe.”

Sam stills for a minute before trying to pull away again, this time turning his head before he opens his eyes to look at Dean.

“Dean what–” he says, confused and groggy before a more annoyed, “Get off me,” comes out.

Dean lets him pull just far enough away so he can prop himself up on his forearm.

“No,” Dean says in a tone that brooks argument, harsh and final. “You haven’t slept in days, Sam, and neither have I. I’ve tried it your way, tried to give you space because I thought you needed it, but this isn’t working.”

“So what, you think you’re gonna swoop in like you did when we were kids and make everything all better? It doesn’t work that way, Dean. I’m not that little boy anymore.” Sam visibly deflates after that, a bone-deep sadness at the cold truth of the statement and a resignation to its fate. ”Just…go back to bed, Dean,” he says wearily, rolling away from him.

And Dean, Dean’s kinda lost because whether he meant to or not, that’s exactly what he had thought. Not that he could take it _all_ away really, but, he’d try at least. He has to do _some_ thing. He lets his head fall down to the pillow just behind Sam’s head, closing his eyes he murmurs, “Sam – I...” he tries, but stops to gather his thoughts. He can totally blame the girly moment he’s about to have on sleep deprivation when it comes up later, but he can’t do this anymore.

“Sam, I just…can’t stand by and watch while you – Somewhere in your messed up brain you have to know that.”

Sam sighs long and deep, but remains silent. Dean’s hands are clenched in fists beneath him, aching to hit something with the frustration building in them. They’re not touching, but Dean can feel the heat and tension coming off Sam’s body in waves. He knows he’s being a little selfish, but this is something they both need. They only touch when it matters, whether it’s safety, proof of life or love; it’s who they are, how they communicate.

Dean wants so much to go back to a time before Castiel, before Lucifer, before Lilith and the damn demon blood. He’s not stupid, he knows they’ll never forget, but they can try to move on. They can heal.

He just wants his brother back.

“Just, can I – ” he whispers when he places a hand on Sam’s shoulder moving closer, because he’s never been good with words. Anything important, he’s always said with his body, because it can’t lie the way he can.

Sam still doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t pull away either, so Dean counts it as a win. They lay there in the silence, Sam’s body taut as a bow-string, nothing but a raw bundle of nerves in Dean’s arms.

After Sam’s breathing evens out, it’s Dean who tenses, knowing what’s to come, but he follows soon after despite all efforts to the contrary. Sheer exhaustion has taken more than its toll on both of them.

When Dean wakes to Sam’s cries this time, he presses himself firmly against Sam’s back, while his thumb rubs soft, reassuring arcs into Sam’s arm. It takes several minutes, but it seems to help, if only a little. If Sam can make it through one night of uninterrupted sleep, Dean thinks they may just have a chance.

They’re a long way from what they used to be, but it’s a start. And for the first time in a long time, Dean actually feels a little hope.


End file.
